THE 
GREAT  RIVER 


FREDERICK  OAKES  SYLVESTER 


THE    GREAT   RIVER 


THE 
GREAT    RIVER 


POEMS    AND 
PICTURES 


BY 

FREDERICK    OAKES 
SYLVESTER 


CHICAGO 
1911 


COPYRIGHTED,  1911 

BY 
FREDERICK   OAKES   SYLVESTER 


O   river,  river,  never  yet 
Was  half  your  glory  sung; 
And  never  skill  of  painter's  brush 
Nor  praise  of  poefs  tongue 
Shall  half  reveal  the  majesty, 
The  charm,  the  primal  grace 
That  clothe  you  and  attend  your  ways 
And  shine  from  out  your  face. 


THE  GREAT  RIVER 


TA3HG  3HT 


THE  GREAT  RIVER 

|Y   the   red   man's  grave  and  the 

ancient  trail, 

By  cabin  and  camp  I  glide. 
Dark  pines  o'er  which  the  eagles 

sail 

Stand  guardians  at  my  side. 
In  a  cradle  of  gentle  hills  I  wake, 
I  nurse  and  sleep  on  the  breast  of  a  lake — 
And  when  my  first  full  leap  I  take, 
I  tremble  in  my  pride. 

By  the  fields  of  wheat  and  the  fields  of  corn, 

By  forest  and  isles  I  flow. 

Now  shadowed  by  dusk,  now  mirror  of  morn, 

Far  down  to  the  sea  I  go. 

I  join  the  mirth  of  a  thousand  rills 

That  laugh  in  the  meadows  and  dance  on  the 

hills, 

My  song  the  path  of  the  springtime  thrills 
And  the  tide  of  the  pathless  snow. 


By  the  great  gray  cliffs  and  the  prairies  wide, 

By  valley  and  farm  I  speed. 

Fair  Heaven  I  clasp,  a  willing  bride, 

To  my  ocean  home  to  lead ; 

Her  garments  of  gold  and  azure  light 

I  fashion  anew  in  our  onward  flight, 

I  double  the  jewels  she  wears  at  night, 

Her  every  mood  I  heed. 

By  the  fiery  kilns  and  the  noisy  marts, 

By  city  and  town  I  race, 

The  smiles  and  tears  of  a  million  hearts 

Are  mirrored  in  my  face; 

The  kiss  and  the  curse,  the  sob  and  the  song, 

The  cry  of  the  weak  and  the  shout  of  the 

strong — 

I  gather  them  all  as  I  hurry  along, 
And  scatter  them  all  apace. 

By  the  deep  bayou  and  the  broad  lagoon, 
By  the  ranch  and  the  range  I  roll; 


The  silver  sheen  of  the  southern  moon 

I  offer  the  sea  as  toll. 

I  throw  the  delta  gateways  wide 

In  my  rush  to  the  deep,  and,  side  by  side 

And  hand  in  hand  with  the  welcoming  tide 

I  reach  my  journey's  goal. 


THE  FATHER'S  SMILE 


3JIM8  a'HHHTA-*  3HT 


THE  FATHER'S  SMILE 


HE  river,  they  claim,  is  turbid 

and  dark, 

The  river  is  grimed  and  gray, 
But  I  have  seen  a  crown  of 

gold 
On  its  head  at  close  of  day. 


And  I  have  seen  a  silver  seal 
Aglow  upon  its  breast, 
A  silver  seal  with  the  grace  of  Him 
Who  clothes  the  East  and  West. 

And  I  have  seen  a  royal  robe 
Agleam  from  hem  to  hem 
With  all  the  crystal  loveliness 
Of  jewel  and  of  gem. 

And  I  have  heard  a  secret  sound 
As  the  river  flows  along, 
That  seems  above  the  twilight  hills, 
The  river's  evening  song. 


And  I  have  caught  a  wondrous  light- 
Methinks  I  see  it  yet, 
A  wonder-light  whose  wistfulness 
One  never  can  forget. 

For  it  is  filled  with  mystery, 
Yet  full  of  joy  the  while, 
And  I  have  loved  to  think  of  it 
As  the  mighty  Father's  smile. 


THE  FATHER  OF  WATERS 

|ES,  I  have  painted  you 
In  every  mood — 
When  sunshine  woo'd 
Your  smile  and  filtered  through 
Your  being;  when 
The  world  of  men, 

Within  the  hive,  nor  knew 

Nor  understood, 

Feigning  brotherhood, 

How  into  love  our  friendship  grew. 

We  know  each  other  well; 

We  laughed  and  sang 

Together;  pang 

Of  passion  felt;  the  spell 

Of  languor,  rage; 

The  open  page 

Of  peace  have  known,  and  swell 

Of  life  when  Spring's 

Warm  flood-tide  brings 

The  roses  back  to  hill  and  dell. 


Childhood  and  youth  in  me 
And  strength  of  years, 
Sunshine  and  tears, 
With  these  in  you  agree. 
Something  each  feels 
In  each  reveals 
Oneness  with  Infinity; 
Yet  each,  intact, 
Owns  power  to  act, 
Free  being  and  identity. 


3YAQ  TD33H3q   3MOD  ,H3V3  HI  .H3HT 


HAVE  come  back,  my  river, 
I  have  returned  to  you. 
In  my  journeys,  far  and  near, 
I  have  found  no  stream  your  peer, 
Nor  found  your  equal  in  the  whole 
world  through. 


I  have  come  back,  my  river, 
I  have  delayed  too  long; 
But  the  notes  of  other  streams, 
That  have  murmured  in  my  dreams, 
Have  hushed  their  voices  in  your  great  home 
song. 

I  have  come  back,  my  river, 

No  more  we  two  shall  part, 

For  I  love  the  length  of  you — 

And  the  breadth  and  strength  of  you — 

And  all  your  wealth  of  wonder  fills  my  heart. 


ELSAH 

NOW  ye  the  hills  of  Elsah 
That  range  by  the  river's  side, 
Where  quaint,  old-fashioned 

houses 
Behind  the  fir  trees  hide? 


Know  ye  the  vales  of  Elsah 
That  run  from  the  water's  edge, 
With  shady  pathways  leading 
Upward  to  cliff  and  ledge? 

Know  ye  the  life  of  Elsah, 
Elsah  asleep  by  the  stream, 
With  trembling  lips  that  murmur 
The  World's  name  in  her  dream? 

Time  was — when  the  years  were  younger- 
That  Elsah  was  half  a  bride, 
And  the  World,  that  is  ever  a  bridegroom, 
Lingered  and  sang  at  her  side. 


But  the  song  that  thrilled  her  bosom 
And  the  rose  that  graced  her  hair 
Are  things  of  the  past,  forgotten 
By  the  singer  who  placed  them  there. 


HH8  HA3J3  HO  33Y3  HHT  TAHW 


THE  GLORY  OF  THE  HILLS 

|  HERE  is  a  glory  of  the  Elsah  hills 
That  shall  forever  win  my  songs  of 

praise. 
Have  I  not  felt  it  countless  nights 

and  days? 
Is  it  a  little  thing  when  wonder 

fills 
The  soul  and  one's  whole  being  wakes  and 

thrills 

To  beauty?     'Tis  my  wont  to  gaze  and  gaze, 
Spellbound,  above  the  three  great  waterways 
That  gladden  the  eyes  of  Elsah  as  she  wills. 
Adown  the  sun-bathed  slopes  and  through  the 

trees 

As  far  as  vision  goes  the  mighty  streams 
Mirror  the  sky,  while  field  and  grove  and 

space 

Mingle  and  merge  in  tender  harmonies 
That  change  the  life  of  Elsah  into  dreams 
And  radiate  a  glory  round  her  face. 


THE  RIVAL  OF  THE  RHINE 


3MIHH  3HT  HO  JAVlfi  3HT 


ND  art  thou  smiling,  Elsah, 
And  dost  thou  sing  a  song, 
Nor  know  the  World — that  woo'd 

thee  once — 
Now  worketh  thee  a  wrong? 


Thy  gifts  and  garlands  gladly 
Thou  gavest  years  ago, 
The  fruits  of  thy  goodly  harvesting, 
The  wine  of  thy  heart's  deep  glow ; 

But  the  World  was  restless  and  roving 
And  lightly  valued  thy  gifts, 
For  the  will  of  the  World  is  wayward  grown, 
And  often  its  fancy  drifts; 

Drifts  and  forever  wanders, 

Seeking  the  strange  and  new, 

For  never  a  time  in  the  life  of  the  World 

Has  the  love  of  the  World  proved  true. 


And  the  voice  that  sounds  as  music, 
And  the  touch  that  seems  caress, 
Will  crash  as  lightning  through  thy  heart 
And  mock  thy  nakedness. 

Yea,  naught  of  thy  virgin  glory 
The  lust  of  the  World  will  spare- 
Till  thou  shalt  hide  thy  breast  for  shame 
In  the  folds  of  thy  matted  hair. 

O  spirit  of  living  beauty, 

Ere  this  be  Elsah's  fate, 

May  the  tide  of  the  mighty  stream  of  streams 

Unbar  its  ancient  gate 

And  bear  the  form  of  Elsah 

To  its  home  within  the  deep, 

To  the  arms  of  the  ocean  and  lap  of  the  sea 

In  one  eternal  sleep! 


3JJIH  aajqwiaT  HHT 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  HILLS 

|AVE  I  not  lived  at  Elsah, 
And  climbed  the  Elsah  hills 
And  stood  aloft  on  Elsah's  cliffs 
And  felt,  with  heart-deep  thrills, 
The  glory  of  the  sunset, 
The  purple  Grafton  heights, 

The  Mississippi's  burnished  gold 

Aglow  with  a  million  lights? 

Have  I  not  watched  the  twilight 
Cradle  the  land  in  dreams, 
And  seen  the  shadows  lull  to  sleep 
The  eyes  of  the  wakeful  streams? 
The  earth-red  chief,  Missouri, 
Restless,  unfettered  and  wild, 
The  Illinois,  a  maiden  fair, 
Half  woman  and  half  child? 

Have  I  not  oft  kept  vigil 

With  star  and  moon  and  morn, 

And  heard  the  Father's  chantings  join 


In  the  sunrise  chant  of  the  corn; 

Or  caught  the  song  the  wheatfields 

Sing  to  the  summer  skies ; 

Known  Spring's  young  touch  and  Autumn's 

charm 
When  the  haze  o'er  the  lowland  lies? 

Have  I  not  felt  the  vastness 

And  primal  sense  of  things 

Stir  my  whole  being  into  deep 

Eternal  questionings; 

Yea,  thrilled  with  joy  and  wonder, 

As  thought  to  vision  grew, 

And  found  a  beauty  more  complete 

Than  the  outward  senses  view? 


Then  speak  not  of  the  cities 
Where  men  with  men  contend, 
And  man,  God-like,  divinely  made, 
Men  do  not  comprehend; 


Where  sense  views  sense-inventions 
And  credits  itself  alone, 
Where  man-made  men  beget  in  belief 
Children  they  call  their  own. 

But  speak,  if  you  can,  of  a  city 

Which  cherishes  Nature's  gifts, 

And  the  chaff  of  envy  and  hatred  and  strife 

From  the  wheat  of  holiness  sifts; 

Where  thought  sees  deeper  than  seeming, 

Seeking  an  infinite  Cause; 

Where  self  blocks  none  of  the  streets  with 

greed, 
And  fear  forms  none  of  the  laws. 


ND  do  you  love  my  river, 
My  stream  of  the  tawny  tones, 
And  do  you  find  its  world,  indeed, 
The  rarest  beauty  owns? 

Oh,  I  have  seen  it  waken 
To  welcome  home  the  dawn, 
And  I  have  seen  its  eyelids  close 
When  the  veil  of  night  is  drawn ! 

Yea,  I  have  heard  its  laughter, 
Have  seen  its  glorious  smile, 
And  I  have  felt  it  leap  for  joy 
And  shout  for  joy  the  while. 

What  speed  on  wind-swept  courses, 
What  races  'gainst  the  breeze! 
What  secret  pauses,  songs  and  dreams 
Under  the  brooding  trees! 

The  hills  clasp  hands  by  its  borders, 
The  forests  sing  by  its  side, 


While  the  prairies  that  rival  the  ocean's  realm 
Surge  round  it  far  and  wide. 

It  is  blood  of  the  vales  and  the  valleys, 

It  is  wine  for  flower  and  tree, 

It  is  pulse  of  the  plains,  the  meadows'  veins 

And  the  land's  great  artery. 

I  know  you  love  my  river — 
God  grant  you  know  its  worth; 
For  He  made  it  fair  beyond  compare, 
The  king  of  the  rivers  of  earth. 


THE  MIRROR 


HOHHIM   3HT 


REFLECTION 

MIRROR,  immense  and  perfect 

and  grand, 
Is  the  river  to-day  with  its  frame 

of  land. 
The  lowlands  of  grain  give  a  fillet 

of  gold 

And  the  cliffs'  steady  rise,  majestic  and  bold, 
Makes  a  moulding  to  harmonize,  crown  and 

enclose, 
This  sunny,  reflecting,  great  stream  as  it  flows. 

The  breath  of  the  wind  no  dimness  hath  made 
On  the  clear,  lucent  surface,  no  fingers  have 

laid 

In  wave  touch  to  shadow  or  ripple  the  deep, 
And  even  the  current  seems  fallen  asleep, 
But  out  of  its  depth,  in  beauty  and  grace, 
Beams  the  image  of  heaven's  dear,  wonderful 

face. 


THE  AWAKENING 

|HIS  morn  I    saw  the  eastern   sky 

aflame 
With  sunrise  colors,  rose  and  blue 

and  gold. 
The  mighty  river  heaven  seemed  to 

hold 

By  just  a  thread-like  breeze,  till  it  became 
E'en  as  a  steed  whose  spirit  is  made  tame 
From  very  force  of  tenderness.     The  bold 
Dark  cliffs  were  modelled  in  heroic  mold 
Against  the  depths  from  whence  the  glory  came, 
Lavender  toned  and  purple  were  the  hills. 
The  river  waves  like  opal  rose  leaves  lay, 
All  scattered  by  the  breeze,  until  the  stream 
Grew  dappled  with  the  petals'  splendor.   Thrills 
Of  joy  surged  through  my  heart,  and  I  no  day 
Shall  see  to  dim  the  sweetness  of  this  dream. 


T835IO3  TH3IDWA  3HT  3O  3OCI3  3HT 


FATE 

LITTLE  while,  and  thou  shalt  say 

adieu 
And  leave  this  sheltered  spot  that 

gave  thee  birth. 
A  little  while,  fair  tree,  and  that 

dear  earth, 

So  tightly  held,  shall  slip  like  quicksand  through 
Thy  grasp,  and  thou  no  more  the  kiss  of  dew 
Shalt  feel;  no  more  the  stars  thy  form  shall 

girth; 

Nor  shall  thy  leaves,  all  radiant  with  mirth, 
Sport  in  the  heavens  far  within  the  blue. 
The  river  tempts  thee  daily  with  its  glass 
Of  magic  and  its  borrowed  gems.     It  mocks 
The  very  heavens,  yea,  insidious,  late 
Or  soon,  will  steal  thy  last  gold  grains  and  pass 
With  thy  weak  form  into  the  night.     The  locks 
Of  its  great  den  will  turn  and  seal  thy  fate. 


THE  FLOOD 

|ITH  tawny  colored  mane  and  jaws 

blood  red, 
Down  from  the  northern  mountains 

bare  and  cold, 
The  hungry   river  comes.     A  lion 

bold 

And  famished  now  it  seems,  and  swiftly  tread 
Its  cruel  feet  to  crush  the  grain.     Its  head 
Swings  far  from  side  to  side  as  if  'twould  hold 
Earth's  fairest  treasure  in  its  maw.     Eyes  rolled 
To  heaven  in  rage,  it  roareth  o'er  the  dead. 
Many  a  fertile  garden,  many  a  home 
In  seeming  shelter  hidden  from  its  sight, 
With  mothers,  fathers,  children,  safe  for  years 
Far  from  the  thickets  where  its  young  cubs  roam, 
It  strikes  in  fury,  plunges  into  night, 
And  leaves  a  wilderness  dim  with  stranger's 
tears. 


3335IT  ^0  JATHOq  3HT 


O  see  these  lilac  bushes  all  abloom, 
O  Nature,  is  enough  of  joy  to  fill 
The  soul  —  and  yet  you    give,  be- 
sides, this  hill, 
So  temple  like,  with  great  fair  trees 

that  plume 

Themselves  incessantly.    Ah,  scarcely  room 
Have  I  within  my  heart  for  this — this  still 
More  lovely  thing  that  doth  my  being  thrill : 
The  mighty  river  where  the  gray  cliffs  loom! 
What  pride,  great  Nature,  tempted  me  to  boast 
That  I  had  song  or  color,  gifts  of  art 
To  speak  your  glory  or  to  sing  your  praise? 
Yet  will  you  not  forgive,  since  I  have  most 
Of  all  wished  touch  of  mine  might  some  lone 

heart 
Awake  to  see  your  grace  and  hear  your  lays? 


]OON  in  the  western  sky, 
Low  hills,  and  then  the  great  wide 

stream, 

And  tall,  dark  trees  against  the  gleam 
Of  star  and  lighted  cloud  and  even- 
ing's gold — 

Oh,  what,  I  ask,  does  the  gift  of  heaven  hold 
More  wonderful,  more  fair? 
And  yet,  your  waving  hair, 
Catching  the  glint  and  glow  of  burnished  rays 
That  color  and  illumine  with  a  maze 
Of  loveliness  your  brow,  your  eyes,  your  lips, 
Your  throat's  deep  curve,   your  hands,   your 

finger  tips — 

Gives  to  my  picture  life  and  wealth  of  grace 
That  lifeless  seems  without  your  happy  face. 


of  the  West  the  river  came, 

Oil  Out  of  the  West  like  a  sheet  of  flame 
I   That   quivered   and  flashed  and 

leaped  ablaze 

Till  it  quenched  its  fire  in  the  even- 
ing's haze, 

Till  the  red  sun  burned  to  a  fitful  rim 
And  the  hearth  of  the  world  grew  vague  and  dim. 
Aloft  on  the  hill  against  the  sky 
You  stood  entranced,  as,  far  on  high, 
From  blue  to  gold,  from  gold  to  gray 
The  heavens  turned  and  the  stars  held  sway. 
I  shall  come  when  you  turn  from  your  world  of 

dreams, 
From  the  spell  of  the  stars  and  the  charm  of  the 

streams, 

I  shall  come,  and  shall  touch  with  my  finger  tips 
Your  trembling  hands  and  seek  your  lips, 
And  whisper  a  word  that  is  sweeter  far 
Than  gift  of  stream  or  dream  of  star — 
For  all  of  their  splendor  and  glory  and  might 
Grow  pale  in  the  glow  of  a  great  love's  light. 


YM 


T  thought  of  you,  my  river, 
The  tears  are  in  my  eyes, 
And  all  the  restless  world  is  gray 
And  gray  the  narrow  skies. 


I  miss  the  great  wide  prairies, 
The  range  of  sky  and  space, 
And  Oh!  I  miss,  far  more  than  all, 
The  sunlight  of  your  face 

That  comes  as  comes  the  morning, 
A  glory  and  delight; 
That  leads  the  evening  down  the  world 
And  haunts  the  ways  of  night. 

O  river,  though  I  tarry 
Within  the  crowded  mart, 
You  have  my  spirit,  river  mine, 
Your  smile  has  all  my  heart. 


GIVE  you,  O  River,  my  sheaf  of  song 
To  bear  on  your  breast  away; 
It  is  half  of  it  broken,  and  half  un- 
spoken, 

And  all  of  it  thin  and  gray — 
But  take  it,  my  River,  and  bear  it 

along 
For  a  year  and  a  night  and  a  day. 

I  give  you,  O  River,  my  wreath  of  art 

To  bear  on  your  breast  afar; 

It  is  half  of  it  faded,  and  half  unshaded, 

And  many  the  faults  that  mar — 

But  take  it,  my  River,  to  hold  in  your  heart 

As  you  hold  the  Evening  star. 

I  give  you,  O  River,  my  crown  of  years 

To  bear  on  your  breast  for  aye; 

It  is  half  of  it  real  and  half  ideal 

And  all  of  it  passing  away — 

But  take  it,  my  River,  though  wet  with  my  tears, 

A  joy  at  the  end  of  the  day. 


SONNET  is  a  poet's  orchestra 

And  he  the  leader,  with  his  wand  of 
rhyme; 

Fair  words,  sweet  sounds  his  great 
musicians  are 

And  faultlessly  they  follow  him  in 

time; 

Now  faint  and  tremulous  as  breath  of  Spring 
When  Winter's  frozen  tears  dissolve  in  dew — 
Now  thrilled  with  soft  melodic  strains  that  bring 
Visions  of  happiness  and  joy ;  and  through 
This  harmony  a  deeper  chord  of  love 
Gathers  and  swells  from  far  off  worlds  unknown, 
Rising  in  great  triumphant  waves  above, 
And  culminates  in  one  grand,  throbbing  tone — 
Then  dies  away,  as  Summer's  blooms  depart, 
Leaving  the  Autumn  richness  in  the  heart. 


SENSE  of  Time   and   Space   and 

A  Worlds  afar, 

I  Of   friendliness  of  sea  and  sunlit 

dome, 
Of   childhood  ripples    wandering 

from  home, 
Yet  never  deep  enough  the  scene  to  mar; 
Anon  a  wave  above  some  hidden  bar 
Buries  in  tears  the  heart  that  loved  to  roam, 
Then  billows  headlong  plunge  into  the  foam, 
Battling  to  win  a  gleam  of  Fame's  white  star — 
Thus,  from  the  ocean  of  its  birth,  the  soul 
Follows  the  flood-tide's  flow  and  breasts  the 

world. 

A  moment's  rainbow  wreath  is  held  by  some, 
Yet  the  ebb-tide  claims  them  all  in  backward 

roll; 

Then  one  last  gleam  upon  a  sail  unfurled — 
A  sense  of  Time  and  Space  and  Worlds  to  come. 


3IJOTOHOA  3HT 


>,  I  cannot  paint  that  wondrous 

A  green 

II  Of  sun-kissed  trees  against  the  dis- 
tant blue, 

Though  it  has  haunted  me  the  sum- 
mer through ! 
Each  evening,  when  its  glory  I  have  seen 
Beyond  the  veil  of  space  which  floats  between 
Its  loveliness  and  me,  I've  felt  each  hue 
Stir  all  my  heart ;  yet,  though  I  constant  woo, 
It  holds  its  royal  reign,  a  vestal  queen. 
So  beautiful,  so  subtile  and  so  fair, 
So  all-sufficient  and  so  calm,  shall  skill 
Or  love  of  mine  ne'er  lead  thee  to  reveal 
The  secret  of  that  loveliness?    I'll  dare 
Ten  thousand  tints,  if  I  at  last  may  thrill 
To  find  my  brush  speaks  all  I  see  and  feel ! 


THE    CLOUDS'  ARENA 


AH3HA  'aaUOJO    3HT 


OW  good  it  is  to  watch  the  wind  at 

play, 
High  in  the  heavens  and  the  fields 

of  space ! 

Now  as  a  runner,  eager  for  the  race, 
It  speeds  exultant  down  the  sunlit  way ; 
Or,  like  a  shepherd,  seeks  the  clouds  that  stray, 
The  fleecy  flocks  of  clouds  that  know  its  face, 
And  Oh,  with  what  idyllic  charm  and  grace 
They  sport  and  frolic,  questioning  its  sway! 
Sometimes,  a  mountaineer,  it  leaps  the  crest 
Of  more  than  mountain  heights  of  clouds  and  hurls 
An  avalanche  adown  the  canyon  sky. 
At  night,  perchance,  its  giant  pinions  rest — 
Or  do  they  cleave  their  way  to  other  worlds 
That  in  such  great  profusion  crowd  the  eye? 


]O  brush  could  ever  paint  this  winter 

N  scene- 

II  These  twilight  trees  against  the 

sombre  sky, 
Lifting  their  naked  branches  far  on 

high. 

The   faded    face    of   Heaven    looks  between 
The  leafless  limbs  through  frozen  tears,  the  keen 
Wild  wind  of  night  that  fiercely  rushes  by 
Furrows  her  brow,  while  boughs, like  wrinkles, lie 
Over  the  cheeks  where  roses  once  were  seen. 
Some  mighty  etcher,  gifted  with  a  line 
Swift  as  the  wind,  clear  cut,  and  more  than  sure, 
Could  here  behold  a  motive  strangely  grand, 
Here  feel  an  impulse  born  of  power  divine 
Inspire  his  stroke  with  something  to  endure 
Beyond  the  transient  labor  of  the  hand ! 


hath  the  Word  of  God  an  epic 

Hmade- 
Here  grouped  these  stately  mount- 
ains, range  on  range. 
The  prologue  is  to  yonder  canyon 

laid, 
Which  makes  a  pause  of  grandeur,  wild  and 

strange. 

From  crest  to  crest  heroic  measures  run, 
Sired  of  that  Source  of  rhythm,  deep  and  strong, 
Which  formed  the  rhythmic  radiance  of  the  sun — 
Then  break  into  a  thousand  peaks  of  song. 
Thought  is  not  born,  as  yet,  that  comprehends 
The  Mind  that  mouldeth  mountains  into  lines 
So  grand,  so  beautiful — that  gently  bends 
The  lilies  and  so  kingly  rears  the  pines. 
And,  when  the  sunbeams  kiss  the  mountain's 

brow, 
I  pause,  and  deep  in  admiration  bow. 


MA3HT8   3HT  83QIJO  JJIT8 


NATURE'SISYMPHONY 


much   of   Earth    the    heavens 
hold  in  tune ! 
How  much  of  Earth  reflects  what 

Heaven  owns ! 
The  wind's  mere  breath  hath  many 

million  tones, 
A  glance  of  light  from  sun  or  star  or  moon 
Wins  every  blade  of  grass.     The  hills  are  hewn 
Into  a  thousand  shapes  that  Heaven  loans 
But  for  a  moment.    From  its  color  zones 
Infinitudes  of  tints  and  shades  are  strewn. 
I  hear  the  lyric  of  the  leaves,  the  seas' 
Wild  chantings  and  the  prairies'  peaceful  song. 
The  miracle  of  dawn  floods  stream  and  foam 
With  rose,  and  paints  with  wondrous  harmonies 
Each  plume  of  tree  and  pearl  of  spray.    Be 

strong 

O  heart,  and  sing  that  Earth  is   Heaven   and 
Home! 


HAVE   contentedly  sat  hours  and 

hours 
Among  the  roadside  grasses,  dumb 

with  praise. 
Contentedly,    said    I?    Yea,   if   to 

gaze 

In  rapture  at  a  wealth  of  wild  wood  flowers 
Makes  one  content.     In  all  this  world  of  ours 
A  vague  unrest  disturbs  the  stream  of  days, 
And  no  peace  lingers  in  the  crowded  ways 
Drunk  with  the  mad  supremacy  of  powers. 

But  there  is  satisfaction  and  a  large 

Contentment  down  among  the  grasses — kneel 

One  little  moment  there,  if  poet's  heart 

Be  thine,  and  thou  shalt  then  have  secret  charge 

Of  loveliness,  and  in  thy  bosom  feel 

The  living  springs  that  feed  the  founts  of  art. 


JVE  VAN 


LIVE  STRONG,  ANOTHER  JUNE 


3513H  Zl   3WUt  H3HTOMA  .DVIOHT3  3VIJ  .HAM  HVIJ 


|HIS  is  the  perfect  night  of  perfect 

June! 

The  universal  harmony  sublime 
Is  audible.  The  mighty  spheres  that 

climb 

The  templed  heavens  and  the  full- 
orbed  moon 

Lead  on  the  starry  chorus.     Fancy-strewn 
With  orchestras,  the  galaxy  keeps  time, 
And  rolls,  in  unison  and  rhythmic  rhyme, 
One  grand,  triumphant,  million-chorded  tune — 
It  is  Creation's  own  Messiah,  sung 
By  nature's  countless  choristers.     The  notes 
Of  Mars  and  of  the  plaintive  Pleiades, 
Now  low,  and  now  voluminous,  are  flung 
World  wide.    The  music  o'er  the  mountains 

floats, 
And  thrills  the  bosom  of  the  trembling  seas. 


OD  speaks,  and  lo,  a  new  born  world 

appears! 

Fair  on  the  bosom  of  the  universe 
Nestles  the  orbit  of  its  circling  years. 
Its  form,  in  light  both  sun  and  moon 

immerse 

And  gently  doth  it  slumber  and  grow  strong. 
Oft  have  I  seen  a  star  that  seemed  a  child, 
Merry  and  twinkling  with  a  silvery  song; 
Oft  seen  stars  maiden-sweet  and  shy,  and  wild 
Stars  bold  as  youth;  then  great  deep  orbs  that 

thrilled 
Me  with  their  power.    All  these  to  God's  least 

Word 

Obedient,  move  in  peace;  but  man,  self-willed, 
Forgetting  Love  doth  still  his  being  gird, 
Hears  but  the  echo  of  his  shoutings,  hurled 
Back  from  the  ramparts  of  his  fortressed  world. 


STIC  hill,  that   bravest   every 
gale, 
The   courage   of  a  perfect  love  is 

thine. 

Under  thy  friendly  lea  the  fright- 
ened sail 

Watches  the  storm-girt,  wild  horizon  line 
Where  hosts  of  thunder  clouds  are  marshalling. 
They  hurl  the  tumult  of  a  world's  unrest 
Upon  thy  solitude,  in  fury  fling 
The  leaping  billows  round  thy  ancient  breast. 
But  thou,  with  steadfast  and  with  noble  calm, 
Lifting  thy  head  above  the  mists  of  fears, 
Beholdest  flood  on  flood  without  alarm. 
Heedless  thou  art  of  them,  as  of  the  years 
That  wash  the  footprints  of  each  race  from  sight 
Yet  leave  thee  firm  and  fearless  in  thy  might. 


STOOD  jbeside  "a  pool  of  clearest 

I  calm, 

Wherein  there  was  reflected  earth 

and  sky; 
A  picture  in  the  water  seemed  to 

lie: 

And  playfully,  not  meaning  any  harm, 
I  threw  a  pebble  there.     In  swift  alarm 
The  deep,  blue  tones  repeated  from  on  high 
All  disappeared,  and  soon  the  place  where  I 
Had  seen  the  heavens  imaged  lost  its  charm. 
In  tears  I  waited  there,  desiring  all 
The  vanished  glory  to  return  again, 
It  could  not  be  my  thoughtlessness  would  mar 
Its  beauty  and  its  grace  beyond  recall; 
And  even  as  I  waited,  even  then, 
The  waters  caught  and  held  the  first  faint  star. 


APPRECIATION 

|ORE  beautiful  to  me  than  any  dream 
Is  this  great  universe  that  is  my 

home. 
The  art  of  Athens  and  the  craft  of 

Rome, 

With  all  the  vast  varieties  of  beam 
And  arch,  of  statue,  dance  and  song,  I  deem 
Less  wondrous  than  the  charm  of  heaven's  dome, 
The  ocean's  music,  traceries  of  foam, 
And  shy,  wild  blossoms  by  the  woodland  stream. 
Praise  be  to  Him  who  set  the  poet's  thought 
Of  rhythm  in  the  soul,  and  gave  to  me 
The  painter's  sense  of  art  and  loveliness! 
Yet  oft  I  feel  my  very  being  brought 
In  touch  with  some  transcendent  harmony 
That  is  too  fair  and  holy  to  express. 


THE   UPPER    M 


3HT 


HOLD  that  Life  hath  beauty  every  - 

I  where, 

I   Awaiting  but  some  faithful  heart  to 

thrill. 

The  play  of  sunshine  round  the  dis- 
tant hill, 

The  folding  tender  reaches  of  the  air 
That  harbors  every  sailing  cloud,  the  fair 
Bosom  of  Earth  that  nestles  close  and  still 
Creature  and  tree  and  blossom — these  all  fill 
The  soul  with  joy  that  nothing  can  impair. 
When  light  first  wreathed  the  universe,  to  span 
Mountain  and  main  and  star-dim  depths  of  space, 
Life  hallowed  it  with  beauty  and  with  song 
To  quicken  and  sustain  the  hope  of  man, 
Sweeten  his  faith  and  give  him  power  to  face 
The  claims  of  imperfection  and  be  strong. 


AN  IDEAL 

(HERE  is  a  voice,   alas!    too  often 

heard 
Among  the  crowded  ways  of  men, 

that  makes 
A  discord  with  eternal  things,  and 

breaks 

Upon  Life's  harmony  with  jarring  word. 
What  answer  know  we  for  the  song  of  bird 
Or  birth  of  Spring,  when  lust  of  riches  takes 
The  light  and  music  from  the  soul,  nor  wakes 
One  chord  of  joy  by  which  the  heart  is  stirred? 
Oh,  give  me  less  of  wealth,  of  fame,  of  skill, 
If  but  the  rhythm  of  the  seas  and  streams 
May  move  me  into  song;  if  speech  of  mine 
May  win  an  echo  from  the  wooded  hill, 
Or  tune  with  stars  and  mountains — if  in  dreams 
I  see  a  kingdom  real  and  divine ! 


let  it  not  be  said  of  me,   dear 

friends, 
That  to  my  heart  the  outward  view 

of  things 
Is  profitless;   that  no   emotion 

springs 

From  Nature's  open  founts  and  daily  sends 
Its  rivulets  of  joy  to  me — yea,  wends 
A  clear,  enchanting,  happy  stream  that  sings 
Of  sights  and  sounds  and  secret  wonderings, 
And  in  a  sea  of  sweet  contentment  ends. 

I  love  the  world  for  every  ray  of  light, 
For  all  the  gifts  and  mysteries  of  air, 
For  what  I  feel  and  fancy  forth  in  dreams ; 
But,  most,  I  love  that  inner,  deathless  sight, 
That  vision  which  reveals  a  sure  and  fair 
Reality,  transcending  all  that  seems. 


3HT  OHIW02  HHT  8A 


IMMANUEL 


CANNOT  bear   to  think  the  little 

child 
Who   walks    beside   me    with    the 

trustful  eyes 
May  sometime  be  less  loving  and 

more  wise; 

And  yet,  I  know  the  rosy  face  that  smiled 
To-day,  and  yester-morn  amid  the  wild 
Spring  grasses  laughed  in  glee,  to-morrow's  skies 
Will  cloud,  and  doubt  and  shadows  will  arise 
To  which  his  trust  cannot  be  reconciled. 

Then  pity  for  the  heart  in  armor  clad, 
Forced  by  the  world  to  shield  its  happiness 
Beneath  a  breast-plate  of  reserve  and  pride; 
But  praise  unending  if  the  growing  lad, 
Spurning  hate's  helmet,  Love's  sweet  nakedness 
Shall  choose — and  feel  God  ever  by  his  side ! 


LIKE  the  man  who  has  deep  faith 

I  in  men, 

Who  has  abiding  trust  in  each 

and  all, 
Who  doubts  not  one,  nor  hesitates 

to  call 

The  least  or  lowliest  his  brother.     Ten, 
Yea,  and  a  hundred  times  he  pardons,  when, 
Forgetful  of  their  higher  selves,  they  fall; 
Who  leads  them,  as  did  David  hapless  Saul, 
Back  to  the  thought  of  healing  Good  again. 
But,  more  than  this,  I  like  the  man  who  goes 
Not  songless  to  the  common  tasks  of  life, 
But  twines  a  flower  round  his  tools  of  trade; 
Who  boasts  not  what  he  does  nor  what  he  knows; 
Who  brings  no  sword  but  Love  to  conquer  strife, 
And,  king  of  self,  of  nothing  is  afraid. 


QAOfl  3MOH  3HT 


'IEVE  not,  dear  heart,  because  thy 

pathway  leads 
Along  the  common  hedgerows  of  the 

earth, 
And  simple  tasks  have  been  thy  lot 

since  birth ; 

There  are  strange  beauties  in  the  roadside  weeds 
That  wait  discovery,  and  none  but  needs 
Interpreting.     'Tis  rash  to  measure  worth 
On  borrowed  scales,  for  'mid  a  seeming  dearth 
Of  opportunities  may  rise  great  deeds. 
There  is  no  work  too  small  to  merit  praise, 
No  gift  of  love  the  Infinite  disdains ; 
And  oft  amid  life's  simple  happenings, 
Its  humble  walks,  and  half  forgotten  ways, 
The  worth  of  manly  effort  well  sustains 
The  soul  to  greatness  in  God's  highest  things. 


HE  sonnet  came  as  comes  the  honey 
comb, 

A  wondrous  wealth  of  nectar-laden 
cells, 

Wherein  both  Art  and  Nature's  spirit 

dwells. 

Beyond  the  mountains  dim  the  bee  may  roam, 
Far  over  seas,  above  the  crested  foam, 
Or  down  amid  the  meadows  or  the  dells; 
Yea,  through  the  crowded  gates  of  citadels 
May  bring  the  stores  of  golden  sunshine  home. 
The  universe  is  but  a  poet's  flower, 
And  'mid  its  starry  petals  manifold 
He  seeks  eternal  treasure  for  his  song. 
The  heritage  of  one  transcendent  hour, 
The  sonnet  doth  the  hoards  of  ages  hold, 
While  worlds  of  busy  workers  round  it  throng. 


VENEZIA 


of  coral  and  mosaic,  hung 
Upon  the  breast  of  sweet  Italia, 
Is  sea-born,  ocean-clasped  Venezia. 
Each  palace  is  a  pearl  whose  fame 

is  sung 
By^'deathless  bards;  each  bridge  a 

jewel  strung 

With  liquid  threads  of  gold;  each  church  a  star 
Some  artist  crystallized  and  brought  from  far 
Off  worlds  of  light  to  glow  yet  more  among 
The  myriad  wonders  of  the  strange  lagoons. 
Oh,  church  and  bridge  and  palace,  gems  of  Art 
Unique,  swift  praise  and  true  I  give,  yet  feel 
More  keenly  deep  the  twilight  and  the  moon's 
Caress  change  these  to  dreams  that  thrill  my 

heart, 
As  night's  mysterious  charms  o'er  Venice  steal  ! 


QUEEN  OF  THE  ADRIATIC 

|ITY  of  three-fold  loveliness  of  night 
Is  Venice.  Star  and  moon  and  depth 

of  space 
She  shares  alike  with  all;  yet  mark 

her  grace, 
As  on  her  bosom  fair,  a  heavenly 

sight, 

She  clusters  all  their  glory,  matching  height 
With  depth  through  liquid  traceries  of  lace, 
And,  softly  breathing,  bathes  her  eyes  and  face 
In  silvery  darkness  colorful  with  light. 
Wings  of  a  thousand  fancies  speed  along 
The  shadowy  folds  of  draperies  that  hide, 
Yet  half  reveal,  her  wondrous  form;  and  low 
And  softly  tuned  to  star  and  sea,  her  song 
Ripples  and  rings  adown  the  sleepless  tide 
With  joy  which  only  hearts  that  dream  can  know. 


AMALFI 

|ALL,  towering  cedar  trees  like  an- 
cient spears 

Stand  guard  o'er  Cappuccini's  con- 
vent cells — 
Though  now  no  priest  within  the 

convent  dwells — 
And,  downward   far,   Amalfi's   face  appears 
Sunlit,  appealing,  that  at  once  endears 
Itself  forever.    Color,  soft  as  a  shell's 
Pearl  lustre,  in  her  bosom  fair  impels 
Emotions  only  satisfied  by  tears. 
And  when  the  moon  above  the  summer  sea 
Traces  a  path  of  glory  o'er  the  deep, 
Greeting  Amalfi  with  a  soft  caress, 
And  flooding  all  the  world  with  mystery, 
Dead  is  the  heart  that  shall  not  proudly  weep 
For  joy,  o'er  filled  with  too  great  happiness. 


LAGO  DI  COMO 

OVE-gray  and  blue  and    iridescent 

sheen 
Of  opal  plumage  circling  neck  and 

breast 
Of  doves,  where    color    is    the 

loveliest, 

Is  but  a  moment's  mirror  of  the  green 
And  sapphire,  rose  and  olive,  I  have  seen 
Flooding  the  mountain  range  from  base  to  crest 
Above  Bellagio,  that  kingliest 
Great  pearl  of  splendor,  pendant-like  between 
The  beautiful  Italian  lakes;  for  all 
The  notes  of  full,  deep-chorded  harmony 
Focus  their  radiance  there  at  sunset.     Then, 
As  evening  shadows  over  Como  fall, 
They  fade  into  a  dream-born  memory 
Beyond  the  power  of  palette  or  of  pen. 


ISCHIA 

STOOD  on  Capri's  rugged  mountain 
height 

And  gazed  afar  upon  the  azure  sea 

That  charms  the  sky  with  its  in- 
tensity. 

The  fair  Sorrento  shore  was  bathed 

in  light, 

And  soft  and  silvery  gray  with  tone  that  sight 
Can  scarce  perceive,  the  coast  of  Napoli 
Appeared,  a  circling  arc  I'd  dimly  see, 
Then  lose,  then  find  again  with  wild  delight. 
Once,  far  beyond  the  utmost  point  of  shade 
That  hinted  of  the  headlands,  leaving  space 
For  sky  and  sea  to  mingle  in  what  seemed 
Caress,  with  form  so  beautiful  it  made 
My  soul  rejoice,  I  saw  pale  Ischia's  face, 
Fair  as  the  loveliest  world  of  which  I've  dreamed. 


A  NOCTURNE 


|HE  sea  in  perfect  unison  of  tone 
And  value  with  the  heavens  seemed 

to-night, 
Both  as  one  quiet  shadowy  depth 

where  light 
Lay  sleeping;    where,   revealed   to 

those  alone 

Who  have  for  beauty  pure  affection  known, 
Soft  color  slumbered,  dreaming  with  delight 
Of  sunrise  planets  gaining  back  their  sight 
And  noontide  worlds  to  fullest  vision  grown. 

Below  the  Dipper's  realm,  in  downward  line 

From  high  Orion,  part  in  ocean,  part 

In  heaven,  sang  three  constellations — first, 

Sorrento  fair;  then  Castellemare,  fine 

As  Taurus;  then,  a  feast  for  mind  and  heart, 

Great  Napoli  upon  the  vision  burst. 


THE  MOUNTAINS 

|HAT  joy  it  is  to  breathe  the  moun- 
tain air! 
Inhale  the  wondrous  fragrance  of  the 

pines, 
Trace   with   the   eye  the  rhythmic 

sweeping  lines 
Of  height  that  leads  to  height  more  nobly  fair, 
And  on  to  crest  and  peak  that  proudly  wear 
The  mantle  of  the  stars.     What  beauty  shines 
Down  in  the  valleys  of  the  columbines, 
In  grace  and  loveliness  beyond  compare ! 
Oh,  just  to  be  is  here  supreme  delight ! 
Just  once  to  feel  the  sense  of  being  fill 
The  heart  with  wonder;  realize  the  strength 
And  majesty,  the  tenderness  and  might 
Of  that  eternal  Cause  whose  love  man  will 
In  gladness  seek  to  understand  at  length ! 


COROT 


ILL    France  is  fairer  since    Corel's 

warm  brush, 
Rich  with  the  coloring  of  twilight 

time, 
Or  silvery  with  dawn,  made  bloom  or 

blush 

Of  these,  poetic  as  a  poet's  rhyme. 
He  found  a  rhythm  in  the  hills  and  trees, 
A  music  in  the  depths  of  silent  lakes, 
A  charm  in  cloud  and  space,  and  symphonies 
In  everything.     It  is  his  vision  makes 
France  fairer  since  he  lived,  and  on  her  breast 
Proudly  she  wears  his  colors  now.     Her  heart, 
With  love  all  nations  well  may  manifest, 
Burns  vestal  lamps  before  the  shrine  of  Art 
To  honor  him  and  cheer  with  welcoming  light 
Some  new  Corot  up-struggling  through  the  night. 


INNESS 

|UTUMN  returns,  but  Inness  is  no 

more. 
His  widowed  palette,  bride  of  happy 

years, 
Hath  laid  aside  her  glorious  dress, 

and  o'er 

Her  form  like  sackcloth  lies  the  dust.    Fall,  tears 
Of  rain,  and  hide  the  purple  hills  in  mist! 
Weep,  oh,  ye  clouds,  and  dim  the  golden  trees ! 
Stilled  is  the  heart  of  our  great  colorist 
And  stilled  the  hand  that  caught  your  harmonies. 
Yet,   by  the   gift  that  speeds   the   sunbeams 

through 
The  sudden  storm,  that  makes  the  rainbow's 

birth 

A  concord  sweet  of  sun  and  rain  till  new 
And  fairer  glory  fills  both  heaven  and  earth, 
The  beauty  Inness  wrought  shall  live,  a  light 
Of  joy,  through  seeming  loss  to  holier  sight. 


IIGHT   broods  o'er  Bethlehem,  and 

faintly,  far 
Among    the    mountains,  some   lost 

lamb's  lone  bleat 
The  silence  breaks;  and,  save  one 

strange,  deep  star 
That     shines    transcendent,    darkness     reigns 

complete. 

But  look,  some  light  illumines  with  its  gleams 
The  trembling  shepherds  and  their  sheep;  it  fills 
The  fields  with  one  vast  flood  of  brilliant  beams, 
In  grand,  majestic  glory  gilds  the  hills! 
Then  high  o'erhead  the  hosts  of  angels  sing 
Paeans  of  praise.     From  mount  to  mount  the 

waves 

Of  music  roll,  and  all  the  heavens  ring 
With  joy;  earth  echoes  to  its  deepest  caves. 
All  hail,  all  hail  to  Christ,  the  Lord,  again! 
All  hail,  and  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men! 


THE  ANNUNCIATION 


|  AIR  thoughts,  more  beautiful  than 

flowers,  filled 
With    fragrance    Mary's    girlhood. 

Lovingly 
She  cherished  them  and  felt  them 

grow,  and  stilled 
The  winds  of  earth  about  them,  constantly 
Watching  and  waiting  for  their  promise.     Fears 
She  met  with  faith,  and  listened  for  the  Word; 
Yet  wept,  with  sun-lit  glory  through  her  tears, 
When,  soft  within,  the   Christ-child   song   she 

heard. 

Sweet  was  the  prelude  of  her  motherhood, 
A  music  rich  with  mystery  and  praise — 
Ofttimes  its  notes  she  fully  understood — 
Until  the  concord  of  that  day  of  days, 
That  perfect  harmony  of  Christmas  morn, 
When  unto  all  the  world  the  King  was  born. 


|HE  Inn  is  crowded  now,"  the  keeper 

said — 

And  so,  two  thousand  years  ago  to- 
day, 
They  turned  the  mother  of  our  Lord 

away! 

Within  a  manger  near,  a  baby's  bed 
She  made,  and  for  the  coming  Christ-child's  head 
She  formed  a  little  pillow  of  the  hay. 
At  dawn  she  kissed  the  lips  God  taught  to  pray — 
Whose  prayers  healed  the  sick  and  raised  the 

dead. 

O  crowded  heart,  with  all  thy  worldly  guests, 
Hast  thou  a  better  gift  for  Christ  this  morn? 
Is  there  in  thee  a  room  unoccupied, 
Not  filled  with  self  or  strife,  where  no  greed  rests, 
Wherein  the  Child  of  Spirit  may  be  born? 
Oh,  then,  rejoice,  for  God  is  glorified ! 


IF  I  could  paint  and  put  on  canvas 

I  all 

My  dreams  of  the  Madonna's  moth- 
erhood, 
I'd  choose  the  deep,  rich  tones  of 

some  old  wood 
Of  leafy  trees  as  background,  like  a  wall 
Of  twilit  evergreen,  and  then  let  fall 
Great,   golden   beams   of  radiant   light   which 

should 

Illuminate  the  Christ-child's  form.     One  could 
But  love  His  glorious  mission  to  recall. 
Tender  as  tinted  cirrus  clouds  of  rose 
I'd  touch  the  virgin's  bended  head,  and  gild 
A  halo  round  her  holy  brow.     Her  face, 
In  ecstasy,  the  rapture  would  disclose 
Of  love  triumphant,  and  her  eyes  be  filled 
With  God's  sublime  divinity  and  grace. 


,THE  MIGHTY  STREAM 


MA3HT3  YTHOIM  3HT 


HE  rivers  of  thought  are  broad  and 

deep, 

The  rivers  of  thought  are  long, 
And  the  rivers  of  thought  are  fair, 

indeed, 
That  flow  from  the  springs  of  song 


For  the  springs  of  song  are  the  springs  of  life, 
And  right  from  the  heart  they  rise, 
They  are  crystal  clear  as  the  sunbeams  are 
That  range  the  open  skies. 

They  are  crystal  clear  and  flowing  free 
And  filled  with  joy  supreme, 
And  the  only  vessel  to  hold  .their  wine 
Is  the  heart  of  a  golden  dream. 

The  heart  of  a  golden  dream  will  hold 
The  wonderful  wine  of  song 
That  gives  the  soul  of  the  singer  strength 
And  makes  the  listeners  strong. 


THE  OPEN  SECRET 


ND  would'st  thou  search,  O 

layman, 

The  secret  springs  of  art — 
Know    what    the    hidden 

motives  are 
That  stir  the  artist's  heart? 


And  would'st  thou  ask  the  singer 
From  what  sequestered  fount 
His  songs  arise,  that  gird  the  world 
And  to  the  heavens  mount? 

Would'st  know,  as  well,  what  power 
Launches  the  poet's  rhyme, 
And  speeds  its  course  beyond  the  stars 
And  boundaries  of  time? 

Then  ask  of  the  light  what  magic 
It  mixes  with  its  beams, 
Transforming  sky  and  sea  and  sward 
Into  a  world  of  dreams; 


Inquire  of  the  wild  wood  flower 
What  bids  it  bend  with  grace 
And  perfume  all  the  forest  aisles 
And  clerestories  of  space; 

Implore  of  the  bird  what  rapture 

Pulses  its  priceless  throat 

Till  its  song  becomes  the  herald  of  Spring, 

And  the  world  awakes  to  its  note. 

And,  should  these  give  thee  answer, 
Their  voice  shall  seem  thine  own, 
And  leap  within  thee,  pure  and  sweet 
As  a  Word  from  God's  great  throne, 

To  tell  thee  every  motive 
That  prompts  the  human  heart 
To  do  its  best,  for  the  best  it  feels 
Is  rife  with  the  Truth  of  Art. 


HREE  clouds  there  were,  the  story 

goes, 

Athwart  the  evening  sky; 
One  was  a  barque  of  silver  gray, 
And  one  of  gold  that  sailed  away, 
And  one  that  lifted  its  sails  on  high 
Was  all  of  a  wonderful  rose. 


Three  artists  saw,  the  story  goes, 
The  clouds  in  the  evening  sky; 
One  of  them  painted  the  ship  of  gray, 
And  one  the  gold  that  sailed  away, 
And  one  the  vision  that  lifted  high 
Its  sails  of  wonderful  rose. 

Three  hundred  years,  the  story  goes, 
Count  naught  with  the  evening  sky; 
But  one  of  the  pictures  lost  its  gray, 
In  one  the  gold  all  faded  away — 
But  the  one  that  lifted  its  sails  on  high 
Is  still  of  a  wonderful  rose. 


T33H03  TW3IOWA  3HT  VII  JOOq  3HT 


RE'S  a  pool  in  the  ancient  forest," 
The  painter-poet  said, 
"That  is  violet-blue  and  emerald 
From  the  face  of  the  sky  o'erhead." 

So,  far  in  the  ancient  forest, 

To  the  heart  of  the  wood  went  I, 

But  found  no  pool  of  emerald, 

No  violet-blue  for  sky. 

"There's  a  pool  in  the  ancient  forest," 
Said  the  painter-poet  still, 
"That  is  violet-blue  and  emerald, 
Near  the  breast  of  a  rose-green  hill." 

And  the  heart  of  the  ancient  forest 

The  painter-poet  drew, 

And  painted  a  pool  of  emerald 

That  thrilled  me  through  and  through. 

Then  back  to  the  ancient  forest 
I  went  with  a  strange,  wild  thrill, 
And  I  found  the  pool  of  emerald, 
Near  the  breast  of  the  rose-green  hill. 


HE  gray  dusk  covers  the  moorlands 

wide 

To  the  sky's  low  rift  of  rose, 
And  tears  in  the  dreams  of  the  world 

abide — 

But  my  heart  a  sweet  song  knows, 
My  heart  a  sweet  song  knows. 


The  gray  dusk  covers  the  marsh  and  the  stream 

To  the  sky's  low  glint  of  gold, 

And  tears  still  flow  from  the  world's  mad  dream — 

But  a  song  in  my  heart  I  hold, 

A  song  in  my  heart  I  hold. 


SOFT  TWILIGHT  LINGERS 


8H3OHIJ  THOIJIWT 


STRETCH  of  darkening  water, 
And  mountains  far  away, 
And  over  the  world  the  shadow 
Of  half  departing  day — 

Save  one  soft  cloud  of  coral, 
And  a  group  of  sun-kissed  trees, 

And  all  of  the  rest  a  twilight 

Of  minor  symphonies. 

Yet,  when  the  dusk  shall  deepen 
And  fill  the  wells  of  space, 
The  little  cloud  will  linger 
As  the  sweetness  of  a  face, 


And  the  sun-kissed  trees  be  golden, 
Like  a  smile  within  the  heart, 
As  long  as  the  world  goes  dreaming 
And  dreams  are  the  life  of  Art. 


HEAR  the  wind  in  the  pine  trees 
And  the  answering  song  of  the 

cones, 
And  the  thousands  of  reed-like 

needles 
Scatter  its  silvery  tones. 


And  the  wind  goes  down  the  valley 
And  over  the  mountain  leaps, 
But  my  heart,  my  heart,  forever 
The  song  of  the  pine  tree  keeps. 


THE   STREAM    . 
ARROW 


TM3IOWA  3HT  HO  MA3HT8  3HT 
8H3XAM  WOH«A 


RE  arrows  names  for  all 

the  trees 

That  grow  along  the  river, 
A  dozen  shots  would  soon 

exhaust 
My  modest  little  quiver. 


The  arrows  are  of  common  use, 
Heavy  and  blunt  and  olden, 
Cedar  and  oak  and  pine  they  are, 
But  each  is  winged  and  golden; 

For  each  doth  bend  a  bow  of  praise, 
Doth  leap  the  stars  and  capture 
The  painter's  vision  of  the  world 
And  all  the  skies'  sweet  rapture. 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  SPRING 


HO  SJOAHIM  SHT 


HE   Southwind   merrily  passed  my 

home 

On  its  way  to  the  hills  beyond — 
I  heard  it  call  to  the  sleeping  trees 
And  I  heard  the  trees  respond. 


They  had  lain  asleep  for  a  month  and  a  day, 

For  a  day  and  a  month  and  more, 

But  they  caught  the  call  of  the  Southwind's 

voice 
As  it  journeyed  past  my  door. 

And  they  answered  each  with  a  burst  of  bloom, 
With  a  ripple  of  rose  and  green, 
From  the  heart  of  the  woods  the  answer  came, 
A  song  with  a  silvery  sheen; 

From  the  heart  of  the  woods  to  the  heart  of  the 

stream, 

A  perfumed  song  and  thrill, 
As  an  ecstasy  over  the  fields  it  went, 
As  a  miracle  over  the  hill. 


And  the  silver  sheen  was  the  silvery  dress, 
And  the  song  was  the  voice  of  Spring, 
But  the  wonderful  thrill  was  the  heart's  delight  f 
A  deep  and  a  glorious  thing. 

And  all  of  the  world  and  all  of  its  ways, 

Its  pomp  and  its  ultimate  goal, 

Are   small   compared   with   the    heart's    great 

Spring, 
New  born  in  the  human  soul. 


|O  voice  comes  over  the  sea  of  sound 
But  the  sigh  of  the  surf-swept  bar, 
No  beacon  over  the  shores  of  sight 
But  the  flickering  gleam  of  a  star; 
Yet  soon  Earth's  brow  will  be  laurel- 
crowned 

With  the  blossomed  bough's  delight, 
And  the  welcome  note  from  a  bird's  sweet  throat 
Throw  the  wealth  of  Spring  afar. 

No  dawn  comes  over  the  shores  of  sight 

But  the  face  of  one  in  tears, 

No  voice  comes  over  the  sea  of  sound 

But  the  sorrowful  cry  of  the  years; 

Yet  still  we  dream  of  a  primal  right, 

A  balm  for  every  wound, 

And  a  glad  heart  song  of  a  singer  strong 

To  heal  the  great  world's  fears. 


N  the  heart  of  an  ancient  city — 
I  heard  the  wise  men  tell — 
Is  a  stately  hall  of  learning 
Where  the  priests  of  knowledge 
dwell; 


And  the  doors  of  the  world  of  hearing 
And  the  gates  of  the  world  of  sight 
Are  open  to  him  that  keepeth 
Its  altar  fires  alight. 

So  I  went  to  the  ancient  city, 

A  child  I  journeyed  there, 

And  the  hall  of  the  priests  of  learning 

Was  wonderful  and  fair; 

And  the  gates  of  the  world  of  seeing 
And  the  doors  of  the  world  of  sound 
Were  opened  with  light  and  music — 
But  age  in  my  heart  I  found. . 


1    [E  PALISADES   OF  THE   V.IbSJ 


iqqi33I38IM  3HT  ^O  23dA8IJAq  HHT 


>U  cannot  turn  the  portals  back, 
Nor  close  the  doors  of  Spring, 
For  I  have  felt  the  zephyr's  touch 
And  down  the  vernal  vistas 

heard  the  north-bound  blue-bird 

sing! 


You  cannot  Winter's  flag  unfurl 
Above  the  storm  king's  towers, 
For  I  have  touched  Spring's  garment's  hem 
And  o'er  the  trembling  mountains 
caught  the  perfume  of  the  flowers! 


THE  RIVER'S  EVENING  SONG 


OHO8  OWIW3V3  8'H3V[H  3HT 


N  I  shall  cease  to  listen 
And  be  alert  to  see 
The  miracle  of  Spring  and 

dawn, 
The  blossoming  of  tree, 

And  fail  at  eve  to  wonder 
And  watch  the  circling  stars, 
The  little  silver  Pleiades, 
The  ruddy  crest  of  Mars— 

When  I  shall  care  no  longer 
To  praise  the  mighty  stream, 
Or  sail  the  great  horizon's  course 
And  linger  there  and  dream — 

Then  let  the  thread  be  broken, 

The  little  golden  thread, 

For,  when  no  more  these  thrill  my  heart, 

Myself  might  well  be  dead ! 


GENERAL   EDITION 

BOOK  WAS  PRINTED  BY 
THE  PUBLISHERS'  PRESS, 
CHICAGO,  DURING  THE  FALL 
OF  1911.  THE  EDITION  IS  LIMITED 
TO  FOUR  HUNDRED  COPIES.  THE 
FRONTISPIECE  IS  A  PLATINUM 
PHOTOGRAPH  OF  THE  AUTHOR 
BY  MR.  TAKUMA  KAJIWARA.  THE 
HALFTONES  WERE  MADE  FROM 
THE  ORIGINAL  PAINTINGS  BY 
MR.  SYLVESTER. 


